


Norman & Cistern

by saverockyroad



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bahamas, Blood, But not right now, Cistern Cay, Drug Cartel, Eleuthera, Explicit Language, F/F, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mandellín Cartel, Nassau, Norman Cay, Post-Recall, Slow Burn, Violence, also jesse is kinda mysterious in the beginning lmao, and i love him, boats!, but i dont think that slow, catamaran, dont expect fast updates haha, eventually nsfw, hanzo is a little tsundere, hanzo likes calligraphy and stationary, i am sorry in advance for so much plane and boat terminology, i apologize for the awful tags, i love boats lmao, i want to fly a plane someday, jesse loves dolphins, like REALLY loves dolphins, planes!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-03
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-05-01 18:25:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14526513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saverockyroad/pseuds/saverockyroad
Summary: Even the strongest aren’t so strong when their loved ones are ripped from them.(AKA the catamaran/boat fic that I live vicariously through)





	1. Hunted for Scrap Metal

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is my first fic that I've actually tried hard on and that I've posted in a long time. 
> 
> For quite some time, I have been absolutely obsessed with boats, the Bahamas, and especially sailing. So this is what came out of it: me wanting to sail the Bahamas so badly I make the characters that I love do it for me. Enjoy!
> 
> Find me on tumblr! bigsmokecomes.tumblr.com

**0300-16/7 URGENT MESSAGE - AGENT #1774 - LOC: 25.4323° N, 76.5977° W**

_do you want the good or the bad news first_

**0301-16/7 URGENT - COMMANDER W - LOC: 36.1226° N, 5.3422° W**

_Agent Shimada, you know we have no time for this. Report to ship with Agent Oxton for debriefing. You will be fully expected to report any and all details of your findings—Make it quick._

He fidgets with his hands. The little hair he has left had been allowed—if only for a moment—a time out in the open, the salty sea breeze tickling his unkempt and scratchy face. At one point in his life, he would fully believe that this place was beautiful, and would long for it for years after the physical memories escape his conscious. But at that moment, all he wanted to do was to fall into his bed at home and never see the light of day again. He could care less if he suffocates to death at this point, but Winston would be mad that he hadn’t reported his findings, so he slips the face plate back on with the hiss of the gas locking his poor excuse for lungs in place.

Lena was nearby, in a wet suit that came up to her navel, the insignia that he had seen too many times inscribed on her upper thigh. She was just as chipper as always, making a face that could only mean one thing: Cessna or Beechcraft? 

Her love for flying had always come to a surprise to him, he had always preferred taking time to know the land and outcroppings to outsmart your pursuers if it comes down to it. But he does see exactly what she loves about it: the land could only give you so much to explore. On the other hand, the sky was limitless; providing a runway for wherever the wind may take you. That is partially the reason she took on this recon mission, either to show off her piloting skills or just out of the kindness of her heart. He wholeheartedly believed it was the former. 

The ORCA was parked in an abandoned military hangar in Nassau, hopefully out of sight. If the press got word that and airship of that size—and markings—was spotted, their cover would be blown for good. Winston had deliberately wanted to park it somewhere nobody would look for it, maybe renting a private island somewhere in the island chain. But that costs money, and money is something the newfound organization did not have much of.

Lena, after an uncharacteristic minute of silence, “Do you think Winston knows of all that goes on down here?” Her chronal accelerator blinks rapidly like her heartbeat, keeping her tied to the present. “If he had of known, then why would he send us with no backup?” The freckles that covered her cheekbones and shoulders shone, her curious face lit up when he replied. 

“Don’t know how he couldn’t have known, the whole world has known for years by now.” The waves that beat at the rocks below them were loud enough to hear all the way up on the sharp ledges of the Queen’s Bath. 

“Yeah,” Lena turns quiet for a minute and a half too long. Although the loud waves take up the silence, the awkwardness takes them both over. They had found exactly what he had expected, abandoned houses and rotting metal scattered across the islands. Now they sit, scuffing up their knees (or lack thereof) in the middle of the windy island of Eleuthera. “he sure knows what he’s doing though, so I trust him.”

“You shouldn’t trust someone just because you think they care about your well being” 

Her rapid breathing stopped suddenly, and he could tell that he crossed a line. Before making things anymore troublesome, he stands up from his spot dangling his legs over the cliff and pulls out his comm. The shutter clicks on the small device, a picture being taken of the blissfully turquoise pools of water below them. Someone back at the base would enjoy them, and hopefully they would volunteer instead of Lena next time. Her forever jovial expression really hits a nerve when you’re doing dangerous missions and recon trips.

The quietness is even more unnerving. The crashing of the waves against the rocks is all that occupied what was left of his ears for more than ten minutes. The faceplate and half-helmet is what keeps him from losing his life for good, and after those fateful ten years--and a couple of upgrades, he’ll admit that--he still needs it after about a half an hour of breathing clean air. 

He hates the fact that he’s reliant on it. In a tight situation, the hissing of the airlock may be the only path to life that he has. They may never be able to see this part of the world again. Pictures will only do the beauty of these islands justice for a short amount of time before they wear off.

Lena huffs before peeling off the rest of her wetsuit and stuffing it under her arms. The look on her face perfectly reflects her body posture as she stares him down. He lowers his comm, almost intimidated. “What?”

“Just because you’re being your broody old self doesn’t mean it should rub off on me! So, if you don’t mind me, I’m going to at least be a little productive and go hail a car to bring me to the airstrip.” Lena exhales dramatically and storms off clumsily up the rocky ledge to the road. She pulls the dark aviator sunglasses down from the top of her head and squints downwind. A frustrated noise escapes her mouth when not a single car drives by for ten minutes. 

“You really were going to leave me, huh.”

“No, why-“ Lena whips her frail body around and stares him down accusingly. “Genji, you know how I am. I like knowing exactly how a mission will go. You seem to forget sometimes that my first mission was during the Omnic Crisis in King’s Row. It was only a little bit traumatizing.” Her eyebrows shoot up over the rim of her sunglasses, showing truly how sarcastic she really was.

“I wasn’t saying you weren’t qualified, just wondered how sincere you being about hailing that taxi.”

The loud engine of a tractor roars by, whipping the wind around Lena and pushing her away from the road. Her arms fly up in frustration as she puts her head into her hands and blinks directly in front of him, an accusatory finger pressed to where his chest should be. 

“I’ve had enough of this. I’m going to check out that plane that landed down the beach a while ago,” Lena retaliated, and then rolled her eyes, “come with me if you want to get out of here.” 

Genji shrugged, the wires tightening under his skin. “Works for me.”

-

The bright orange Cessna 177 stood before him like a statue, the deep blue wheel chocks keeping it from rolling into the sea. Lena was entirely too giddy when she saw it in the distance, her blinks took her a hundred feet closer than he could run. As soon as she was within reaching distance, the door hatch was thrown open and the headset was pulled on over her still-drying hair. Genji, who was still about 30 yards away, was pushed into a jog to make sure she upholds her promise of taking him out of there and back to safety in Nassau. 

“That dinghy wouldn’t even be a fair match to this. Cruising speed of about 130 knots; this was practically the plane of the 70’s!” Lena excitedly ranted, “That little tender couldn’t even go 15 if it wanted to.” 

Genji climbed into the tight space of the plane and took careful hold of the headset being thrust his direction. The faux leather was flaking off and falling into his lap where bright floral shorts hung onto his metal hips. He has some part-omnic decency. 

“Hopefully the owners won’t be back soon.”

“That’d be unfortunate,” Lena suddenly became very aware of the situation, glancing through the thick windows for any sign of other people in the area. “Winston’ll send it back to them, maybe even with an apology check. 

“You seem to have very high expectations for the new commander. I, on the other hand, have morals.” His eyes gazed through the windscreen and out into the vast expanses of deep blue sea. Just a quarter of a mile behind them lay the bright blue Bahamian water that everyone had grown to love. Lena shrugged and turned back to the controls, rummaging around the console for the key to the ignition. 

“Just a little rundown of some precautionary measures, what to do if we get shot, what to do if I pass out. The like.” Lena puts a huge smile on her face, grabbing the steering column and turning on the engine—finally in her natural element.

“That’s not morbid at all.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s the truth. If anything happens to me, you can pilot it with the joysticks in front of you,” She points to the two-handed controls in front of his lap. Genji makes no movements, so Lena moves on. “it looks like there’s an extra parachute back behind your seat, but, you don’t mind a little water, i’ll gladly take it.” 

Genji side-eyes her, a little too light-tipped for their seemingly impending death. But at the end of the day, he’ll still trust her all the same. 

“Not that it’s a problem with me, but…” Lena trails her eyes down to Genji’s right arm, eyes flicking back and forth from his eyes to his bionic hand. 

“Lena, you cannot be serious.” Genji exhales through the ports on his shoulders, unhinging the panel on the back of his right hand. Lena, reaching through the wires, grabs all of his shurikens and holds them neatly between her fingers. She gladly reaches into the back cabin and lifts up the seats, placing the weapons into the box. Lena’s eyes drift back to Genji’s where he sits quietly, awaiting whatever may come next. 

“And the sword.” 

Genji gives in, unsheathing the long _Ryū ichimonji_ from its rightful place at his back. He skips Lena’s awaiting hands and places it into the bin, and then carefully places the traditional _wakizashi_ by its side.

“I am hoping that this is only for flying safety reasons. I’d hate for you to be afraid of me.” Lena couldn’t see it, and Genji couldn’t feel it, but a smile appeared on his face; something that hadn’t been there for a long time. It was a weird feeling, crossed between slight dark humor and mirth that courses through him. Like the fluid that wasn’t-quite-blood that he can see through his left arm veins. But, he still bleeds the dark crimson liquid as it’s been dyed that color for his own sake. He wants to still feel alive. 

**0337-16/7 URGENT - COMMANDER W - LOC: 36.1226° N, 5.3422° W**

_Time is precious. Get a move on._

The quick jolt that the comm produced was sent through his torso and up his neck. Lena was startled by it, but presses on. Having the key inserted, she presses a button and the roaring of the engine fills their ears. Lena reaches up and presses a button on his headset, the sound of the engine dying in comparison to the chatter of Air Traffic Control. 

Lena says something into the microphone, a long string of words and numbers that only she and the people on the other side of the line could understand. The scratchy sound of the radio sends a shiver up his spine.The propeller on the front of the airplane springs to life, slowly picking up speed as the entire body of the plane turns to look downwind, parallel to the waves crashing against the shore.

“I’m glad it’s low tide, otherwise we’d be stuck here until the tide goes down far enough to have a good takeoff.” She sounds confident that they won’t attract any attention, “It’ll only take about 20 minutes from here to Nassau, so don’t get too comfortable” 

 

-

 

The flight was surprisingly smooth, considering the breeze. Lena had been fidgeting throughout the entire flight, probably considering abandoning the ship and flying across the Atlantic in the tiny aircraft. Approaching NAS was challenging, the wind continued to change directions dramatically and the actual airstrip was extremely busy. That and the fact that the AT Controller didn’t seem to know what he was doing. 

“He kept telling me conflicting things, at one moment he told me it was clear to land but I saw someone already taxiing on the runway. If someone weren’t experienced, this could be life and death.” Lena shook her head as she pulled into the furthest hanger from the start of the strip. Genji pulls his headset off and carefully places it on the small seat.

As if arriving and taxiing wasn’t difficult enough, the small group of men walking through the large doors was enough to set them on edge. Their reflective gear had been shed moments before entering the hangar and were lying on the ground. Lena glanced quickly at Genji, seeing him nod slightly. She took the chance to blink over to the large control panel and begin to close the doors. Her sandal-clad feet were tapping lightly with anxiousness on the cracked concrete flooring.

“Hey—“ The sound of the mens’ heavy footsteps running towards them made Genji’s head stir, although sometimes he believed that his mind was too cybernetically enhanced to feel like that.

Without warning, a jolt flashed through his shell of a body, causing him to immediately fall to his knees. A device was placed directly onto his chest, causing his entire body to freeze in one place. It wasn't an _unpleasant_ feeling: having no control over your limbs, but it was unsettling as is. He could see them turn limp and fall to his sides, the electronic "muscles" that lived in his cybernetic right hand had, for a moment, loosened completely. The sound of the metal of his shurikens hitting the ground was something he will never forget. He _swore_ he could hear Lena in the background running around, blinking in and out of their grasp but he couldn't tell for sure. He had hoped and prayed for her to get out of this, even if it meant for her to leave him there.

And without hesitation, one glance at the seemingly thousand pound guard that had his hands on Genji's muscular shoulder, she knew that that was her one and only option. She had hoped and prayed for her to get out of this, even though she had to leave him there.


	2. Calligraphic Latency

The scratching of the ink quill pen against parchment echoed throughout the small studio room. It bounced off the cabinets near the front door, jumping from the plaster--but barren--walls. It ran down the curtains like a cat that got it's claws stuck in the folds, bouncing on the bed far before it ever came into contact with their ears. It was a stimulating experience, as calming as it was to the mind. They both agreed how this was the height of meditation, even if what you are actually writing was garbage.

They both knew that it was a stupid hobby, and anyone that were to find out about it would mock them until the end of time. The problem was those people didn't understand how it felt to glide a pen against paper, seemingly with meaningless strokes. Filling up the entire space with flourishes that were meant to be sent to people across the globe. They were wedding invitations, for heaven's sake; for someone who had left for a mission weeks ago, had supposed to arrive yesterday at dusk unscathed, and never showed. Her fiancee was consoled the entire night with soothing words that comforted her mind. She was trained to prepare for the worst to happen to her love, not for the worst to happen to herself.

Although the invitations were coming out looking horrid, he couldn't figure out what was wrong with them. He was an incredible calligrapher, and Lúcio was even better than him. He felt...off. Like the night before when he jumped into a ship and drove into town to his favorite stationary store. Lena had asked specifically for red envelopes--because it reminded her of Emily's hair (and her fiery-hot personality, but she wouldn't tell him that). He blamed it on his slowly deteriorating eyesight for not realizing before he had bought all fifty envelopes that they were actually orange. He cursed himself under his breath before once again getting into the ship twenty minutes before close and hastily returning all the envelopes. Lúcio looked sympathetic and almost disappointed when he showed him the receipt, making self-deprecating comments that Lúcio didn't know if or when to laugh at. Hanzo Shimada was a confusing soul--to say the absolute least.

"I cannot--" He forcefully set down the pen, making sure not to bump the ink well to his left. "I don't understand why she would trust me with this."

He shakes his head quickly, “Lena? She totally adores you, man. You put on that closed off, bad boy façade that is hard to crack. And everyone would at least try be nice to you if you let them.” Lúcio’s words were aimed like his arrows: straight to the heart or the head. It was a gamble to place which one though, sometimes Hanzo felt something other than blank contemptment.

“She knows that I’m a perfectionist.”

“And I am too!” Lúcio sets down his own pen, a glass one that shines in the porthole-like light that makes its way through the blinds. It’s hues, from blue-green to brilliant deep red remind him of stained glass and of his father’s estate. “It just takes a man to suck it up and deal with whatever is thrown at you. You’ve known this for decades and you still think that the world is out for your arrest.”

Hanzo huffs, rolling his eyes, “It’s because they are, Lúcio.” The large permanent ink flask that sat inside his bag was practically begging to be opened, the lid staring into his soul. “You seem to forget sometimes that I am actually a wanted man in many countries. This one in fact.”

Lúcio hums and gets back to work. The white ink on the tip of his glass pen never strays from where he wants it. Looking at Lúcio, you can see many things. He is perfectly transparent in his emotions.

His medical career and training is limited, only holding enough education to provide mid-battle care; anything past that is Angela’s duty. She had tried to recruit him to be her assistant, provided that his entire self-worth was based on the betterment of humanity. Growing up in a crowded city with Vishkar invading a mile a way can change a person forever, and most of the time the result will be positive towards a goal like his. He takes pride in kids who look up to him as a hero, as a revolutionary leader, as someone with a rocky path in life that they can see themselves in.

Seeing him with a pen and ink in hand? A totally different story...

Hanzo had kept that jar of ink in his bag for several weeks, waiting for that one hour of inspiration that would never come. He wasn’t necessarily motivated by money, but he did want to impress Lena and Emily because they were his friends. And that is what friends do for eachother. Until a time like now comes where the inspiration department is lacking so many resources and nothing can get done. As awful that is sounds, this is quite a fair occurrence for all.

A sound from outside rips them away from their little sanctuary, Hanzo's head spins with the sudden movement of his body as he turns to face the locked door. The right rapping is what really set him off though; it was too light to be Genji, and too quick to be Jesse. He ponders for only a moment before Lúcio stands up and slips on his dark forest green slippers, tapping lightly to the industrial door.

Hana’s face surprises them both, her usual cheerful expression now mixed with both hesitation and weariness. She glances at Lúcio.

“Angie said she needs you in the medbay. Lena just got back from the Bahamas,” Hana’s dark, full of expression eyes glaze over for half a second. Although Hanzo doesn’t know how he would console her, he feels himself being drawn toward the door. “She’s not doing well.”

Hanzo gets out the door and past Hana first after picking up his bag, setting a large hand on top of her head for only a moment as he strides past. He can hear Lúcio quickly going back into the room for a split second—probably to set down his pen—before reemerging before her and settling himself into a jog to reach Hanzo.

The hallways in the Watchpoint have always been dreary and bland, except for the west wing near the medbay where Lúcio, within his first week of being stationed here, had painted a mural of his hometown of Rio. The lights and colors of the markets and streets never failed to amaze him, even when Vishkar invaded. Every time Hanzo took a moment to look at it he saw something new that he hadn’t seen before—the children playing in the steep streets, the man taking out his trash, the Christ the Redeemer statue watching over the city.

Lúcio loved to fill the time with stories of his childhood when writing, especially when Hanzo couldn’t stand to listen to silence. His hard exterior was easily softened by stories of loved ones; his memories all faded from ten years of repressing them.

Hanzo ran his hand along the dry, bumpy paint as he passed it, knowing that whatever had happened to Lena was going to run through his mind for hours afterwards. Genji was probably with her, sulking from the salty sea breeze that clogged up his air filters.

That thought alone sent a guilty shiver up his spine.

Reaching the medbay, it looked as if everyone stationed there had shown up. Mei-Ling was in her pyjamas with her back turned to them just before the door, recently back from the antarctic where she was researching the effects of her prolonged cryostasis. Aleksandra was there beside her, sweat running down her brow from recent exercise.

Hanzo saw Fareeha from across the long white hallway. As soon as they locked eyes, she turned on her heels and strode down the tile floor with a purpose.

A crushing weight surrounded his head and chest causing him to drop his bag onto the ground. Fareeha’s arms were thrown around his neck. It surprised him, to say the least—not reciprocating the hug yet—but he was confused on why she had done this in the first place.

She released him from her grasp and held his shoulders in front of her firmly. “I am truly sorry, Hanzo.” Her words were chosen carefully, as if to not hurt him. Was he that fragile to them?

“Lena’s in there.” Her strong hands fell down to his bicep where the cotton t-shirt clung close to his frame. “She’s been crying ever since she got back.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

Fareeha’s eyes fell and so did her hand, returning to her sweatpants pocket. She shook her head and motioned towards the opening of the exam room door.

The sight of Lena disheveled as she was was disheartening—to say the absolute least. Her bright turquoise bathing suit strap was torn in two pieces, hanging down the side of her shoulder, a wetsuit in one hand and her broken aviator sunglasses in the other. And, although he had seen her upset on multiple occasions, the emotion written across her face by the furrowed brows, red, angry, rubbed raw nose, and the wet cheeks were enough to instantly make Hanzo upset.

The ugly cry that wracked through her body made him stare at her in pure wonderment. Such a happy, forever jovial girl torn to this…? This shell?

Angela was sitting on a stool by her side, her slender fingers threaded through Lena’s in comfort. Emily was at her other side, sliding her knuckles up and down her protruding spine. Emily was the first to see Hanzo enter the room, immediately letting her hand fall at the sight of him.

“Hanzo…” Her voice was rough and shot, fingers toying with her gold engagement ring. “Lena would...like to tell you something.”

His eyes travelled from the tile floor to her features, lifting an eyebrow in concern.

Lena took a wracking breath before setting her glasses onto the crinkly paper of the examination table. She wiped her eyes, any traces of mascara or eyeshadow had been forever washed off and were rolling down her cheeks.

“Genji…” Lena said in between sobs, “There was this group. This...group that intercepted us at the airport,”

“They had these devices that shut down our mechanics—internal or external. And I hate myself for making him empty his shurikens and swords and whatever you ninjas use into the box under the seats in the back. I had only thought it would protect us, because we were already illegally entering an airport that we had no right to be in.”

Lena took a deep, bone chilling breath. “As soon as we stepped out of the airplane, they just seemed to appear out of nowhere. We’re pretty sure that they traced us through ATC because of a little hiccup on their part.”

“I just…” Lena jumps off the countertop and buries herself into Hanzo’s chest. “I couldn’t save him.”

There is something about that moment, where, given the circumstances, your entire world feels upside down. Something irrational scratches at the back of your throat, clawing its way up the esophagus and into the mouth where it sits like hot coals on your tongue. You wouldn’t wish this feeling on anybody, not even your worst enemy. Something like this wasn't what you would have ever planned. Ten years of regret and pure hatred forced upon yourself, slowly breaking you into a thousand pieces. The grinding motion of teeth. The feeling—not only in your head, but your entire body—of nails on a chalkboard.

Hanzo is silent for more than a couple moments, Lena was pressed up against him full out sobbing now.

“So, he’s…gone?”

His voice felt broken. The box that held his speech was being ripped in two before his own eyes. Jesse sat in the chair to his right, Hanzo’s small step back at the realization of his brother caused him to step onto his boot. He went to apologize, but Jesse just sat there, staring straight ahead before standing up, placing a warm non-prosthetic hand onto his shoulder.

A whisper that only they could hear escaped Jesse’s lips. “ _Please forgive me for this._ ”

And before they all knew it, he fled the room. His chair was instantly taken up by Fareeha and Mei-ling, who insisted on sitting on Fareeha’s lap if it meant sitting with Lena and providing all she could.

And although the situation was strange enough, the pure rage that filled him easily sped through his entire body for revenge.

“He won’t be gone for long. We’ll all find him somehow!” Lena tried for a sense of hope like she always does, Aleksandra butting in with a strong “Even if it comes down to old fashioned tracking.”

Athena came on with a soothing sound that they were all used to by now, a notification of the Commander calling a meeting. Angela spoke up.

“Commander Winston has scheduled a meeting for tomorrow morning, and he has already spoken with me about it. Please, get some well needed rest.” She threw a pointed look at Hanzo’s way, even if he was still in a daze.

-

Hanzo was the last to leave the room, earning a few glances from Angela every so often. His shoulder burned like the coals that crept up his esophagus and rested on his tongue—one in a million.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when you get 4000 words into a fic and your main characters havent even interacted yet #goals


End file.
